A Very Kerry Christmas
by Scriobhaim
Summary: Michael, Fiona, and Charlie, reborn as the O'Donovan family, have successfully settled on the Iveragh Peninsula. Their lives are in transition as they make the switch from covert operatives to parents. With the Christmas season looming, difficulties arise in trying to make the holiday memorable for Charlie. A four part holiday story - Nollaig Shona Dhaoibh!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Burn Notice and its characters are the intellectual property of others.**

**A Very Kerry Christmas**

_**Part 1: Tis the Season**_

Michael turned serious as his thoughts turned to the future. "What will I tell him when he's older?"

"About what?" Fiona asked, not quite following his thoughts.

"About me." Michael pondered his life; his past, how would he explain all that he was, all that he had done. He struggled with the damage his choices had wrought on all he loved.

"Tell him the truth." Fiona presented this option as the obvious one, the only one, really.

Michael grappled with her answer, recognising it as the correct choice, but unsure of exactly how to do that. "Where would I start?"

"Start from the beginning. Start with, 'My name is Michael Westen. I used to be a spy'." As she said those words, Michael smiled. Their eyes met, followed by their lips. Fiona rested her head on his shoulder as they gazed together at the fire, both content, both at peace, both in love, settling into the new life they were creating for themselves and Charlie.

They sat in silence for several moments until Fiona raised a more pressing point. "Anyway, we have more immediate issues to deal with?"

"Issues?" Michael was unaware of any major problems. All indications were that their 'deaths' were accepted as a tragic turn of events. The long-time lovers, Michael Westen and Fiona Glenanne, had lived on the edge, tempting fate at every turn. Their luck had finally deserted them, but they went out in a blaze of glory, destroying a sinister organisation in the process. Those who mourned their passing took solace that the pair faced death together, united for eternity.

"It's December, Michael." Fiona realised that the former spy assumed her statement had to do with their past, but the woman had left it behind. She was not one to dwell on what could not be changed.

Michael brow furrowed as he struggled to find a link to Fiona's statement. Her birthday was in February. They didn't really have an anniversary. His mind was blank and he looked to her for more additional information.

Fiona saw the man's confused expression as he searched for answers. "Impossible, ya are!" They had only returned to Ireland a few weeks before but already the lilt was already returning to her speech. She no longer felt the need to continue to use her false American accent, it came and went as ephemeral as her mood. "Christmas, Michael. It's only a few weeks away."

The ex-spy grimaced as the holiday was mentioned. Many people have happy memories of that particular holiday. Michael Westen, unfortunately, was not one of those people. His holiday memories consisted of alcohol-induced rages from his father often resulting in physical damage to himself or his mother. Christmas meant nervousness, feigned happiness, and ultimately a trip to the hospital or a visit from the police. Once he left home at the age of seventeen, he had left the holiday, if not the memories, behind. Michael stared at his partner as he tried to glean what he was expected to say. "I'm not really a fan..."

Fiona interrupted him. "It's not about you, Michael." Her eyes drifted to Charlie's face. The boy's breathing was deep and even, his face serene. He had fallen asleep on Michael's lap while she had been making tea. "Perhaps it would be better to have this conversation privately." She unpeeled herself from Michael's side, set her mug on the table and stood up. After she gently removed the blanket from Charlie's body, Michael lifted him in his arms and they headed toward his bedroom.

They worked with only the dim illumination of a bedside nightlight. Fiona pulled back the duvet and smoothed the sheets that were emblazoned with trains, readying the bed for its occupant. Michael carefully laid his nephew down, Charlie stirring slightly, and then Fiona tucked the duvet about him. She placed a small kiss on his forehead murmuring, "Sleep well, _a stóirín_." The adults stood in the doorway for several moments as they watched the slumbering child until Fiona's attention returned to Michael. She took a last glance at Charlie and headed back to the parlour. Michael closed the door as silently as possible and followed closely behind.

Fiona retrieved their cups and poured the remaining tea from the pot. "You managed to celebrate the holiday while you were in Miami." She recalled those strained holiday dinners: Madeline's burnt turkey, Sam's gifts of liquor which he proceeded to drink himself, Michael finding excuses to work on the Charger or some other household project to avoid the festivities.

"That was for my mom." Michael pointed out the obvious.

"Well, now ya can do it for your nephew." Fiona was not about to deprive Charlie of the joy of Christmas because of Michael's issues.

"Look, Fi, I've told you before, I'm not like you. I don't have these great family memories of Christmas Day." He shook his head, uncomfortable with where this particular subject might lead.

"So, its time to make some new memories." Fiona stared him down. She was not about to let Michael's dysfunctional upbringing continue onward with the next generation. Madeline regretted the life she had assisted in creating for her sons. The two women had several conversations before her untimely death about this very subject. She had hoped to give Charlie a much different experience: a home that was filled with security and love. Fiona intended to fulfil the older woman's wishes. It was the least that she could do considering the sacrifice made in order for this recently created family to have a future.

"He's three. He probably won't even realise it's that time of year unless you mention it." Michael was hoping that his partner would agree, ending the entire discussion of the subject.

"He's four and he already noticed the lights going up around town." She pointed out the flaw in his argument. "Or were ya thinkin' we should avoid leavin' the cottage until January?"

Michael read Fiona's expression with ease. The subject was non-negotiable. The O'Donovan household would be celebrating Christmas. "Fine." His voice was terse, his posture indicating that actually he would rather be water boarded. "What exactly did you have in mind?" He rubbed his forehead as he awaited Fiona's response.

Fiona could not help but be amused by the man's reaction. "Well, I thought we'd get matching Christmas jumpers and take a photo that we could include in one of those holiday letters." Her deadpan delivery of this news was met with an open mouthed stare.

She continued. "I know just how to start: Dear Friends, It has been an eventful year. Michael spent the better part of the year vacationing in the Dominican Republic. Unfortunately, he made some rather unsavoury friends." She paused, raising her eyebrows as she thought about THAT woman that wormed her way into Michael's life. "Fiona began a new career as a bounty hunter since the government severely curtailed her arms dealing enterprise after her stint in Allarod Federal Penitentiary."

The former spy face began to relax as he realised she was not serious. "What do really have planned?'

"Ya don't want to hear about how we explain how we faked our own deaths and escaped the country with a three year old in tow?" Michael shook his head slowly. "Ah, just as well, we don't have too many friends left to send cards to anyway." She smiled as she sauntered back to the sofa, cup in hand, Michael following close behind, anxious to discover her true intentions. "Charlie is barely four years old. We can keep things fairly simple, Michael. A tree, some decorations, a few presents."

Fiona leaned against Michael and he slipped his arm around her. They spent a few silent moments gazing at the fire burning in the hearth. Michael considered Fi's plan. A tree, some decorations, and a few presents. It did not sound too complicated. It was exactly what his mom would have wanted for Charlie. He turned toward her and slowly nodded. The countdown to Christmas had begun.

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Morning arrived, Michael banishing the previous night's discussion from his mind, hoping Fiona would do the same. He took another spoonful of yoghurt as he read the paper. Fiona emerged from the bedroom dressed for exercise. She planted a kiss on the top of Charlie's head as he munched on his cereal, 'reading' the box appearing to imitate the movements of his uncle. "Mornin', wee one. Did ya sleep well?" A vigorous nod indicated that the boy had. Her attentions then turned to the man. "And you?"

"When you finally let me sleep." They shared a smile, remembering the antics of the night.

"Tea?" Michael had the kettle on, readying it for when she appeared.

Fiona pulled her hair back. "Later. I'm off for a run. Thought after breakfast you could help Charlie write a letter to Santa." The youngster's head turned toward her, his eyes lit up, and a squeal of delight burst forth. Michael waved his hands trying to stop her but she merely smiled. Charlie looked back at Michael, his face filled with joy, his uncle's hands stopping immediately. "Well, that's sorted." Michael's eyes narrowed as he glared at his lover. Fiona quickly escaped the scene, planning on covering several miles before her return, giving the man time to complete the task and reduce his anger.

He tried to draw out breakfast as long as possible, but there was only so much yoghurt in a container. Finally, both bowls were empty and he could no longer avoid the inevitable. He cleared the dishes, retrieved a paper and pen, and prepared to take dictation. "So, how should we start?"

Charlie placed his elbows on the tables, his head resting on his clenched hands. He said nothing but scrunched his face, suspicious that his uncle did not know what he was doing. "You start with 'Dear Santa'."

"Right." Michael began to write. "So, what do you want to write in the letter?"

"I don't know how to write." Charlie thought his uncle should know this.

"I know. That's why I'm here. You tell me what to say and I write it down." Michael explained the process.

The boy added another fact. "I can't read either."

Michael nodded, unclear as to what his nephew was trying to say. "Your point?'

"How do I know you're writing what I say?" Charlie was guarded. He remembered the time his grandma was going shopping. Grandma asked what he would like from the store. He replied 'Strawberry ice cream!' " When she returned there was the frozen treat as requested. There was also underwear. And there was a catch... wear the underwear instead of his pull-ups and then he could have the ice cream. He was not going to fall for that trap again.

"When Fi gets back she can read it back to you. Then you can be sure it says what you want it to." Michael posed a reasonable solution.

Charlie thought about the suggestion for several moments before responding. "Let's wait for her." He folded his arms across his chest, refusing to speak. They had reached an impasse in negotiations. Michael Westen had been defeated.

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Fiona returned. She had intended to pop in the shower upon her return but one glance at her family prompted a quick change of plans. Charlie sat immobile at the table, his arms crossed, his shoulders slumped. Michael mirrored the youngster's posture. "What's going on?"

"Charlie is reluctant to have a third party involved in the letter writing." Michael glowered at the woman who had embroiled him in this predicament. "Since he can't read or write himself, he's concerned I won't get it right. So, we are waiting for you to witness the accuracy of said letter."

She took a deep breath. This was an unexpected turn of events. "Charlie?" She waited for an explanation.

He beckoned her closer, whispering in her ear. "It's supposed to be a secret." Charlie may be only four but he knew how Santa worked: you had to be good and your Christmas wishes were between you and the man himself.

"Oh, believe me, Charlie, Michael knows how to keep a secret. Armed men could break in and torture him and he would never divulge your Christmas wishes." She threw a sideways glance at her partner filled with the lingering pain over his many past secrets. Michael received the message.

Charlie's eyes grew wide at his aunt's colourful description, his eyes darting to the doorway. "You're not helping." Michael thought Fiona could remedy the situation, but now he had his doubts. Charlie's mind was made up. He would remain silent.

The adults exchanged bewildered glances, unsure how to proceed. "Fiona, can I see you in the kitchen?" Michael moved away, Fiona following close behind. "I told you this was a bad idea!" He began the argument in a hushed voice, not wanting Charlie privy to the conversation.

"How did I know he was going to be as pig headed as you?" She spied the boy still sulking at the table. "I have an idea. Follow my lead." They returned, Charlie avoiding looking at the pair. "Charlie, how would you like to visit Santa? Then you can tell him what you want for Christmas yourself." The boy sat up straight, a small smile beginning to form at the corners of his lips. Even Michael began to relax, as he believed Fiona had found a workable solution. Then, the shoe dropped. "Uncle Michael will take you." Michael was horrified at her words. He jabbed her in the ribs as he planted a false smile on his face, pretending all was well.

Charlie jumped up from the table, ran toward the couple, embracing their legs in joyous abandon. Fiona tilted her head toward her lover, an expression of victory on her face. She had outwitted him once again... at least temporarily. He reached for his nephew, lifting him up into his arms. "Great idea, Fi! We'll all go - together. We'll make it a family thing."

The smile drained from her face. "Touché."

The couple turned their attention to Charlie, his face alight with excitement. It looked like the 'O'Donovan' family was about to make their first visit to Santa!

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"How bad can it be?" Fiona posed the question as they discussed the logistics of the proposed visit. Charlie was pouring over the toy catalog that had come in the newspaper, intently focused on the many options available.

"I think it could be pretty bad." Michael watched his nephew, a bright red crayon in his hand circling possible gifts for Santa to bring.

Fiona turned wistful, remembering her own childhood. "I remember me man trying to get all seven of us on Father Christmas' lap for a photo. Was an epic failure! The boys got into a fistfight. Claire was crying. I tried to see if his beard was real."

"Was it?" The former spy's curiosity was piqued.

"It was, but unfortunately I pulled out a rather large clump of it." She winced at the memory, Santa screeching out a string of expletives as a horde of parents and children looked on in horror. "We were banned from the store from that point on." Michael nodded his head. He was able to envision the scene knowing Fiona - and her brothers. "What about you? Madeline must have taken you and Nate to see Santa Claus." Madeline had loved the holidays. Fiona could not imagine her ignoring this seasonal ritual.

"We didn't visit Santa. Half the time my dad was on a bender and there was no money. My mom would tell Nate and I that the reindeer would overheat in Miami so they had to skip the state of Florida all together."

Fiona's mouth dropped open. "It's a wonder you aren't even more screwed up than you are."

"Thanks?" Michael was not sure if that was a compliment or not. Then, he turned toward the business at hand. "So, where exactly do we have to go to see Santa?" There were no major department stores or shopping malls for miles.

Fiona had gathered Intel at the local park, chatting with some women with children about Charlie's age. "It seems there are two main options. There is something in Killarney called 'Santa's Secret Village', or something like that. There are live reindeer, puppet shows, crafts... apparently a whole day of family fun." The mere thought of it made her nauseous but since this escapade was entirely her idea she tried to put the most positive spin that she was able. "Of course it costs about fifteen euros and has to be booked online." Michael just stared at her, willing her harm with his eyes.

"The other option is Tralee. There's a shopping mall with a toyshop. We can just show up. One of us can stay with Charlie. Learn what he tells Santa while the other shops for it, buys it and slips it in the boot of the car." It was not ideal but it would be efficient use of the journey.

"Tralee? That's like two hours away?" Michael groaned at the thought.

"Excuse me! I once drove from Miami to Tallahassee - and back - to search a crusty old man's equally crusty apartment to find information about one of the many people who have tried to kill you over the years." She stopped, challenging him to dispute her claim. "And I never did get either of the dinners at The Forge you promised me!" Fiona's eyes flashed in anger.

The man held his tongue. He reached for her, bowing his head slightly. "And I appreciate ALL that you've done." His eyes met hers as she waited for him to respond, her posture was rigid, her expression wary. He could see that she expected him to balk, find some reason to prevent the trip. Obviously, her gut told her this was the right move for Charlie. The former spy had learned to trust her instincts over the years. She was usually right and he caused a great deal of harm to those he cared about when he failed to heed her words.

"Tralee, it is." A smile spread across her face and she slipped away to tell Charlie the good news. Michael wondered if he would be lucky enough to have a heart attack before the fateful day arrived.

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The drive took longer than expected. There were several toilet breaks ("Sometimes I wish he were still in pull-ups," moaned Michael more than once.) and snack breaks ("I packed enough for a small army. How am I supposed to know that the only time he is truly hungry is when he's strapped in a car seat?" snapped Fiona). The covert operatives were new to the parent game and were still learning its unspoken rules.

Once arrived they jockeyed for parking and joined the mass of humanity marching toward Santa Claus. He was barely visible as they entered the queue, both adults rolling their eyes at the endless wait that loomed before them. There were crying babies, high-pitched squeals, and incessant chatter. Michael wished that he had brought a weapon or at least a pair of earplugs.

A pair of women with an assortment of wee ones gathered behind them. A girl a bit older than Charlie munched on a filled bun, the jam oozing from its side. She continued to push forward wanting to jump the queue, her mam oblivious to her actions. Fiona did not intend to wait one moment longer than necessary and held her position, refusing to allow the youngster to move past. She veered slightly to the right; Fiona anticipated the move and blocked the path. Still, the girl pressed ever forward.

Fiona watched as the little girl's jam encrusted hand drew closer. Her mother was still deep in her own conversation, virtually ignoring the movements of her charge as she tried to push her way forward. "Those fingers touch my Rag & Bone's and you're going to be writing left handed for quite a while." She whispered the threat, eyebrows raised, eyes steely. The little girl's eyes grew wide as Michael intervened.

"Fi, why don't you run that errand now?" Michael put his arm around his partner guiding her away a potential conflict that would land them in the mall security's office or worse. Fi continued to glare at the girl until she moved back toward her mother.

"Gladly!" This might have been her idea but the reality was worse than she feared. "Remember to take a photo." Michael winced but dared not refuse. "Call me as soon as you know what he wants."

"What if I can't stay that close?" There was a small flaw in her plan.

"You'll think of something." Then, she was gone in a flash, leaving Michael and Charlie, hand in hand, waiting for their turn.

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Twenty agonisingly slow minutes later, Charlie was beckoned near the throne. He settled happily on Santa's lap. Michael snapped a picture quickly and moved closer, hovering nearby to eavesdrop on the conversation. Charlie had no trouble divulging the information he so guarded from him to this complete stranger. He was relieved that his nephew had taken Fiona's suggestion to ask for only one or two items. She had pointed out that greedy children who demanded too many gifts might cause the elves to simply walk off the job one day, ruining Christmas for everyone.

Michael texted Fiona The List, remembering another list that caused so much trouble in his former life, nearly getting him killed along with Fiona. This list was far less complicated but no less important to its owner. Charlie bounded off Santa's lap, a candy cane in his hand, and sought Michael's hand. The joy on Charlie's face warmed Michael's heart. The boy turned slightly and waved goodbye to the man in the red suit. Mission accomplished.

"What should we do now, Charlie?" They had some time to kill before Fiona completed her task.

"We should buy a present for MaFi?" Charlie tried to remove the plastic covering from the candy cane. The youngster invented the nickname during their travels when he had to pretend Auntie Fi was his mother. It had stuck as it rolled off his tongue much easier that Aunt Fiona.

"Fi? I don't even know what she wants." Michael removed the wrapper.

"I know! I know!" Charlie jumped up and down.

Michael felt a set up. Had Fiona planted the thought in the young boy's head? He would play along. "And what does Fiona want?"

"I think she wants pyjamas."

"Pyjamas?" That did not sound like a request the woman would make.

"Yeah. Whenever I come into your room at night, she doesn't have any on!" Charlie sucked on his treat. Michael thought they might need to start locking the bedroom door.

The former spy smiled as they headed toward a lingerie shop. Perhaps he would buy two items: Charlie approved sleepwear and Michael approved sleepwear.

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Fiona stared at the myriad of options before her. The first request had been relatively easy. Charlie longed for a bike. She chose a red one, his favourite colour, and then moved on to the second wish. There were trains of every size and colour but Charlie had indicated that he wanted more friends for Thomas. The trains all had specific names and personalities. She stared at the choices frantically trying to remember which ones he already had. This was a job for two. She called Michael.

"Can ya talk?" Fiona needed a private conversation.

Michael watched as Charlie browsed the pyjama selection, a friendly clerk only to happy to assist him find the perfect gift for his 'mam'. "What do you need?"

"There are hundreds of trains here. Do you remember whom he already has? I know there is a Thomas and an Edward."

"There's definitely a James." Michael thought back to the first time he had played trains with Charlie.

"Gordon. Percy. Toby. Fergus." Fiona perused the shelves. "Why are there no female trains? I'm beginning to think this is some sexist plot." Michael sighed in frustration. "Ah, Emily and Rosie. He definitely does not have those and he should." Fiona picked up the two packages.

"He has a Gordon... and a Henry." Michael searched his memory. "I think that's it."

"Oh, look, a Porter. How can I resist?" Fiona smiled as she thought about her friend an ocean away. "I'm almost done here. Give me about thirty minutes to get this all in the car." She put two more engines into her cart as well as some additional track and headed toward the clerk. She stopped short as something caught her eye: zombie blaster weapons with foam ammunition. A smile crossed her face as she pondered the possibilities and quickly added them to her purchases.

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The ride home was quiet. Charlie crashed within minutes. They had survived the outing!

Michael began to relax. He had agreed to Fiona's plan and it was successfully completed. Charlie's Christmas wishes would be granted and Fi would be content. He did not have to spend any more time thinking about the holiday.

And then she spoke... "I was thinking - maybe we should go to one of those Christmas tree farms and cut down our own tree."

Michael inwardly shuddered. Apparently, the Christmas preparations were still in progress. He decided to drink heavily once they returned to the cottage!


	2. O' Christmas Tree

**A VERY KERRY CHRISTMAS**

**Part 2: ' O' Christmas Tree'**

"Cut down our own tree? Are we lumberjacks now, Fi?" Michael thought the idea bordered on insanity.

"It should be fun." Fiona grinned at her partner hoping her enthusiasm would be contagious.

"Fun? As I recall your usual idea of fun often involves car chases at a hundred miles an hour, blowing something up, or tasing someone." The former spy had many 'fun' experiences with the woman; arboriculture never entered the picture before. "Frankly, any of those options sound better than slogging around some tree farm in rural Kerry." He glanced through the rear view mirror instinctively checking for a tail.

Fiona's smile faded. "Fine." She stared out the window, momentarily silent, Michael believing the matter was settled. "I'll take Charlie myself. Ya can sit around the cottage musin' about our uncertain future." Michael frowned, her words ringing true. They had a whole new life, a life that he wanted, but he had no idea how to live it. "You are responsible for that little boy." She cocked her head toward the sleeping child in the back seat. "He needs a childhood. As long as I'm around I intend to give him one." Her jaw jutted out, her eyebrows raised, daring him to challenge her.

Michael heard the reprimand in her voice. He glanced through the rear view mirror once more. This time he focused on the sleeping child rather than surveillance. He would do anything for the two people who had accompanied him into 'death'. He intended to have Fiona by his side for eternity, so he had better follow her lead. "Exactly where is this tree farm?" Fiona realised she had won another argument. Little by little, she planned to ease Michael Westen into civilian life, not for herself, but for their forty-pound bundle of joy. She placed a hand gently on his thigh and outlined their next mission.

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A week later Michael found himself back in the car armed with bag of pull-ups and every edible item that he found in the cottage as the O'Donovan family once again headed for Tralee.

"I don't know why you're in such a bad mood about this, Michael?" Fiona confronted her partner once more. "You must have some happy memories of Christmas?"

"Actually, I do." Michael nodded slowly. "The first year that I was in the Army. We had a turkey dinner - that wasn't burnt - and an extra day of leave. I slept like a baby."

A giggle erupted from the back seat. "Like a baby!" Charlie imagined Uncle Michael in diapers.

Michael reminded Fiona of his objections to this current outing. "I still don't see why we have to drive all the way to Tralee to cut down a tree. We live in a damn forest, Fiona. Why don't we just cut one down?"

"Uncle Michael said 'damn'." Another burst of laughter from the backseat.

"Uncle Michael's goin' to get his mouth washed out with soap." She glared at the man. Michael caught Charlie's eye through the rear view mirror and mumbled an apology. "As for cutting down a tree by the cottage, the land about us is either privately owned or designated park land. It would be stealing to take one of those." She lifted her eyebrows believing that fact settled the matter.

"You used to rob banks for a living." Michael was not willing to let the matter drop. "Since when have you shied away from lifting something for a good cause?"

"That was for the 'RA not my benefit." Her voice began to rise. "I think that you are confusing me with another one of your women. You know the one you were engaged to? She was the thief."

Charlie's face showed concern. "Are you fighting?"

Both adults shouted simultaneously, "No." Then, they sighed heavily and grew silent.

After a few quiet moments, Fiona turned to Charlie and flashed a comforting smile. She told the boy a story about her own childhood. "Mostly, we went to a lot in town to get our tree, but there was one year when me da was not in remand and he decided to pile us all in the car and drive to Down to cut our own. Me brothers ran about the place. They all picked up little saws, hacking away at branches at random. Me mam threatening to call Father Christmas to put them all on the naughty list." She smiled as she recalled the day, but soon her thoughts turned. "Come to think of it, I think we were told never to come back."

Michael eyes shifted toward her, thinking the content of this childhood memory was far worse that his use of a 'bad' word. "Fi." The use of her name returned her to the present. "Have you noticed that most of your warm family moments involved being thrown out of a place?" The woman turned pensive as she searched her memory for evidence to dispute that claim, but came up empty, and remained silent.

"Did you ever cut down a tree, Michael?" Charlie posed the question to his uncle.

"No. Our tree came from a box in the garage, my mom arguing with my dad about who was going to get it and set it up. Usually, she and Nate would put it together." Now it was Michael's turn to smile. It was rare for there to be laughter in the Westen household but this yearly ritual always provided a great deal of it. Madeline would set out some cookies and Nate would carefully insert the branches, chatting about his Christmas wishes that were rarely granted. Michael would sit at the table and put together one of his model airplanes. Never participating in the ritual but wanting to experience the all too brief happy moment in their household.

He realised that was what Fiona was trying to do for Charlie, that's what Nate and his mom would want for the youngster. He sighed heavily vowing to be more positive. His promise was soon broken, however, as a rousing chorus of "Jingle Bells" erupted from the back seat, Charlie belting out the song at the top of his lungs, getting about half of the lyrics correct. The rest of the words were in an unintelligible language of Charlie's making. Michael stole a glance toward Fiona, hoping she would intervene and put a stop to the performance. She swallowed hard before quietly inserting a set of ear buds, lessening if not eliminating the sound. Michael was not similarly prepared. He cursed her silently. It was going to be a very long drive.

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The car slowed, Charlie's squeal announcing their arrival. He strained at the bonds of his car seat anxious to move and begin the hunt for the perfect tree. Fiona placed a hand on Michael's thigh. "We'll get started. Why don't you take a few minutes?" She knew her partner needed some solitude, time to regroup, and prepare for the coming mission. Whether Michael Westen was hunting for a terrorist network or a Nordmann fir, he approached each operation in a similar way. He nodded briefly, appreciative of her gesture. Fiona lifted Charlie from the car and the two quickly disappeared into a sea of green.

Michael thought about staying in the car or driving away briefly, insisting there was an essential errand demanding his immediate attention. Either choice would likely result in Fiona's wrath. He had made his choice on that rooftop in Miami- he had turned his life over to her. If this was what she wanted, he would dig deep and see it through. With a sigh and a groan, he eased himself from the vehicle and went in search of his family.

They were not difficult to locate. He simply followed the sound of Charlie's laughter. He moved swiftly to join them, never spotting the boggy ground separating them. "SH..." He stopped himself before the word tumbled from his lips, reluctant to face another admonishment from Fiona. His jaw clenched as he attempted to remove his feet from the viscous substance.

Fiona watched him struggle for several minutes. "I told ya, ya should get some wellies like the rest of us, but ya insisted those combat boots were waterproof." Michael Westen had scoffed at that suggestion. He used to wear Armani. He had not sunk so low that he was about to clomp around in knee high wellies looking like a sheep farmer. At the moment, he was bitterly regretting that decision.

Once on solid ground, Michael stared at his feet, now caked with peat and whatever else it was combined with. Charlie drew closer, squatting down to inspect his uncle's footwear. "Yeah. They are waterproof. I was not expecting a sinkhole in the middle of a Christmas tree farm, Fiona. Seems like a liability. Surprised they didn't block it off so they don't get sued. Lucky, it wasn't Charlie." Michael rested his case.

Fiona whispered. "You're not in the States, Michael. The Irish look where they're goin'. They don't sue people when they're _eejits._" Michael seethed but remained silent. "As for Charlie, he's watching his step. Lookin' out for stumps, roots, and whatever else may be in his path." Charlie vigorously nodded. Apparently, Michael had missed an important discussion during his moment of solitude.

Charlie grabbed Michael's hand, leading him away from the offending ground. "Follow me!" The former spy gladly complied, Fiona trailing after the pair. Charlie excitedly wound his way around farm, soon dropping Michael's hand as he ran from one tree to the next. Michael thought one tree was as good as another. They were all green, messy, and oozing with sap. Charlie apparently saw something different about each one. Finally, he stopped, a smile brightening his face as he stared upward at the perfect tree. The adults had no such smiles. The stately fir stood ten metres tall. It belonged at Rockefeller Centre, certainly not in their parlour but Michael held his tongue, waiting for Fiona to render judgement.

Her eyes grew wide, her mouth dry as she struggled to find the words. She sighed heavily and made a pronouncement. "Well, that is a fine tree. But if we somehow manage to get it home, we'll have to leave it outside in the garden. It won't fit through the door." Charlie's shoulders slumped. "If you want one to decorate and keep it inside, it can't be taller than Michael." She let him ponder that information. "You decide." She turned slightly away as Charlie continued to stare at the fir.

Michael grabbed her elbow. "You decide? Are you insane? What if he picks that one?"

"He won't." Fiona made the statement with more confidence than she actually felt. Michael could see through her plan, hoping Fiona had calculated the odds correctly. They watched as Charlie slowly moved away, his eyes falling on another option mere steps away. Both adults breathed a bit more easily.

"I like this one!" Charlie stood before the perfect sized tree. He turned to see the adults' reactions. He beamed, as both looked pleased with his choice.

Michael was anxious to cut it down before Charlie could vacillate. His smile quickly faded, however. A sigh of frustration escaped his lips as he realised he had no tool at his disposal to accomplish the task. He was ready to dig the thing up with his bare hands, refusing to be defeated and give Charlie additional time to 'shop'. Fiona smiled noting his obvious distress, slightly enjoying his unease. She removed a saw and an axe from her handbag. "Will these help?"

"You carried them around with you?" The former spy was annoyed with himself for not planning ahead, giving Fiona the opportunity to best him on this adventure.

"You know me, Michael. I come prepared. Would you like to do the honours?" She handed him the implements.

Michael and Charlie sprawled on the ground and they sawed through the trunk together as Fi held the fir steady. Soon, the deed was done. All three grabbed hold of their prize. Michael hoped to make a speedy exit.

As they made their way toward the front of the farm, a clerk greeted them. Michael wanted to pay the man and be on their way. Fiona had other ideas. A conversation ensued, the man inquiring if Charlie had been to see ' Santy' yet. The boy eagerly told the tale to his interested audience. Michael did not understand why even the smallest task here seemed to involve telling your life story to total strangers. He tried not to look annoyed.

Money finally exchanged hands and the man began to walk away, but turned suddenly. "Where's me head?" He took a candy cane from his apron pocket and held it toward the boy.

Charlie's eyes widened. "Is that for me?"

"Tis." He cocked his head toward Fiona. "If yer mammy says so." Charlie's brow furrowed momentarily before he realised the man was talking about his auntie. His eyes shot toward her imploringly. A brief nod of her head gave permission. The sweet was placed in his hands as he thanked the man profusely. "Happy Christmas to ya." The clerk shouted the greeting as he headed toward another family.

Charlie was eventually secured in his car seat, Michael wrestling somewhat with the buckle, Fiona taking charge after watching the man struggle for a while. With both adults in the back seat, Charlie made an announcement. "I need to send a letter to Santa." His guardians froze; Michael gave Fi a death glare.

"We saw him just last week and ya told the man what ya were wishin' for." Fiona tried to ignore Michael's eyes.

"I forgot something." Charlie's brow furrowed, a bit of worry on his face.

"Forgot something?" Michael looked at the boy. "As I recall you were pretty adamant about not buying into the whole letter writing thing. Something change your mind?" Michael was beginning to lose patience. He thought this whole Santa thing was a pain in the ass.

"But I forgot something. Something important." Charlie repeated his need.

Fiona stepped in. "What could you have possibly forgotten? You already asked for a couple of lovely presents. Remember there are lots of other children ... "

"Never mind." Charlie's face darkened, his dark eyes turned serious. Fi recognised the look. It was one she had seen on Michael's face many times before, the one he wore when things seemed hopeless, when he retreated emotionally from the people around him.

Fiona sat next to the boy and looked into his eyes. "We'll write the letter as soon as we're home or we can do it now." Charlie blinked, the darkness lifting. He glanced at his uncle who no longer looked angry. "What's so important, _a stóirín_?"

The boy thought for several seconds about whether or not to reveal his wish. The caring eyes of the both his uncle and MaFi eased his mind, prompting him to speak. "Candy canes."

"Candy canes?" Michael rolled his eyes.

Charlie explained. "Three candy canes. One for each of us." Fiona swallowed hard. He looked at the one currently clutched in his hand. He beckoned her closer, whispering in her ear. "It's better than yoghurt."

Fiona smiled and patted his hand. Michael nodded slowly, his eyes widening in surprise before he spoke. "Better than yoghurt? Hard to believe but I trust you. We'll write that note. Send it off right away and hope it gets to the North Pole in time. Okay?" Charlie nodded, a contented grin across his face. Then, Michael and Fiona completed their exit plans.

The tree was secured on the roof. The candy can was carefully unwrapped, the adults counting on the treat to keep Charlie quiet for part of the drive. Michael's muddy boots were removed and the family began the trek toward home.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Once home, furniture was rearranged, the tree placed by the front window, it's fragrance lending an air of Christmas to the cottage. Charlie fell asleep on the sofa while watching the preparations, his eyes straining to stay awake. The couple watched him for several moments before Fiona noted, "We really need some type of bedtime routine. We can't keep lettin' him fall asleep this way."

"Bedtime routine?" Michael looked puzzled.

"Madeline used to give him a bath, some warm milk, tuck him in his own bed, and read him a story. Every night. Like clockwork." Fiona explained.

He thought back to his own childhood, trying to recall if his mom had done the same when he had been young. He seemed to remember her reading to Nate but Michael, always fiercely independent, had preferred solitude, or so he said. He also remembered listening to her voice through the wall, trying to hear the story, refusing to admit that he would like to join in the ritual. He was glad that Madeline got a bit of a 'do over'; mothering another boy the way that she had always wished she had done the first time around. A pang of regret struck him, wishing she had more time to do just that. Michael nodded. "We can do that. We'll start tomorrow night."

"No choice, really. It will be Christmas Eve and Father Christmas will be coming." Fiona pointed out the obvious. Michael was wary, unsure exactly what was required, but he would follow his partner's lead once more. "Why don't you get him settled and I'll make us a cuppa?" She moved toward the kitchen as Michael lifted the sleeping boy, Charlie barely stirring.

Fiona was already on the sofa, mug in hand, when he returned. He joined her, slipping an arm around her, warmed by the fire as they both gazed at the newly installed tree. "Nice, isn't it?" Despite his protestations she could see the man was content, enjoying the fruits of the season.

"It is. Too bad we don't have any decorations." Fiona's mouth dropped open hearing the words, wondering if Michael was finally getting into the holiday spirit.

"As a matter of fact, Charlie and I have plans to decorate it tomorrow. I wasn't sure you would be interested." She paused awaiting any change of mood.

"Decorations?" Michael grimaced a bit. "Fi, we're on a budget. We already spent..."

The woman quickly interrupted. "We're making decorations. I picked up some spray paint, fishing line, a bit of glitter." She paused momentarily. "Charlie is donating his collection to the cause. You know, the pinecones, rocks, and sticks he's been collectin' on our walks." Michael broke into a grin.

"You're welcome to help." Fiona was encouraged, no biting retort came her way, her partner continued to smile.

"I wouldn't miss it!" He raised his mug to toast to her ingenuity and sincerely hoped that none of her decorations would explode. Despite her attempt at normalcy, Fi was still Fi. Michael would oversee the operation and hope that packs of C-4 did not wind up on their Christmas tree.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The day began early, a slate of tasks loomed. Fiona and Charlie had completed the first set of decorations by the time Michael returned from his run. "Mornin'!" Charlie shouted a greeting as his uncle entered the room.

"Great, we've been here only a few weeks and he's already dropping his g's." Fiona deigned to reply. Michael moved over to the table and picked up one of the completed 'ornaments'. It looked like one of the boy's army men spray painted silver, a loop of fishing line around its neck. "Fi, it looks like this guy's been garrotted."

She shrugged her shoulders. "We'll pretend he's British then." Charlie nodded in agreement, Michael frowning at both.

"And this one?" He pointed to another piece, spray painted gold and rolled in glitter. "Grenade?"

"Pine cone, Michael." She looked annoyed. "Are you going to help or just be critical?" Charlie scowled, unhappy that his uncle did not seem to like their beautiful creations.

Michael turned sheepish, sitting down at once. "What can I do to help?"

She pushed a pile of penne pasta toward her lover, assuaged that he was sufficiently penitent. "You can string these." She soon added, "And before ya ask, it's to be garland, not det cord."

Michael, pressing his lips together, felt the sting of her comment.

The trio worked for several hours, taking breaks when needed. There were snowflakes made of sticks, gold and silver rocks, pods covered in glitter. Each ornament was placed with care on the branches of the fir, the firelight reflecting off the shiny surfaces. Michael lifted Charlie in order for him to place the star, constructed of cardboard and foil, on the top of the tree. The trio admired their handiwork.

Fiona might have designed a much different look for this first tree if she had the budget. She would have likely wanted hand-blown glass balls in shades of white and silver, crystal garland, and perhaps some lace angels. But as she continued to stare at the fir, seeing the beauty of it through Charlie's rapt expression, she realised this was perfect! Even Michael looked pleased and somewhat surprised that their handiwork produced such results. Christmas was nearly here and the O'Donovan family was almost ready to welcome its arrival.


	3. Tis the Night Afore Christmas

**A Very Kerry Christmas**

**Part 3: Tis the Night Afore Christmas**

The remainder of the day passed in a flurry. Fiona went off to procure the fixings of the holiday meal, hoping she could find something that could be merely heated. Her cooking skills were rather limited. It had not been too much of a hindrance in Miami but in rural Kerry, it did pose a significant problem. Of course, she could throw a container of yoghurt Michael's way and he would devour it happily! But she was determined to provide a somewhat traditional Christmas for her young charge.

Fiona circled the parking lot several times; every space occupied, many vehicles lying in wait, their drivers' predatory eyes scanning the landscape. She remembered she had a few blocks of C-4 in her trunk. She never left home without some, as one never knew when a circumstance might demand its use. She thought briefly of creating a small diversion nearby, believing an explosion, even a paltry one, would likely sour even the most desperate shoppers from picking up some Christmas pudding.

Before she had time to enact her plan, the possibility of a parking space became apparent. What appeared to be a couple of pensioners slowly ambled toward the lot. Fiona surveyed the parked cars, using her deductive powers to attempt to determine the vehicle most likely belonging to the pair. She gunned the engine, weaving her way through the lot at a frightening speed, cutting corners with the precision of a Formula One driver. Shouts of patient motorists could be heard as she stalked her prey. She ignored their derisive comments and with impeccable timing she reached the spot where the couple had indeed parked.

As they slowly transferred goods from trolley to boot, she waited, inching ever closer and angling her car in such a way as to block the advance of others. Then, it was done: a parking space secured. A cacophony of honking horns could be heard as she exited the vehicle, her head held high. She had no qualms about her actions. Desperate times and all. She promised Michael that she would make it a short expedition. There was always a great deal of fear in his eyes each time he and Charlie were left on their own. It wasn't as if she had more expertise in child rearing but when they acted as a unit, it increased the confidence of the fledgling parents.

The easiest part of the task behind her, Fiona grabbed the last remaining trolley, snatching it away from a woman who was somewhat distracted by corralling three children before fully gaining ownership. An argument nearly ensued but the death glare the former PIRA operative shot at her opponent made the woman grasp her children's hands and swiftly move away.

She jockeyed for position as she meandered the aisles looking for something both suitable for the day that fit in her limited repertoire of cooking skills. Growing up her mam roasted a turkey for the day in good years, goose on the lean ones. Both options seemed daunting requiring stuffing, trussing, and hours of oven time. There were hunks of roast that would appeal to the men in her household but Fiona tended to stay away from red meat. Duck was certainly an option but she feared Charlie would refuse to eat it, thinking about the ones they fed on the lake sometimes. Then, she spotted just the thing! A pre-stuffed turkey crown, ready to pop in the oven. Even she could manage that!

Fiona was beginning to understand the dynamics of marketing on December 24: shove whatever remained on the shelves into your cart before someone swooped in carrying it away. Then, decide what to actually keep. Some smoked salmon, potatoes, greens, Brussels sprouts, two bottles of wine, a few odd and ends, and even a mince pie were quickly added to the trolley. She surveyed the contents of her cart, pleased with the array of foods, and headed toward the clerk. Her mission appeared successfully accomplished. It was time to head back and hope Michael still had some energy left for the night ahead.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Michael spent the afternoon trying to tire Charlie out, hoping he would fall asleep earlier than usual so the evening preparations could begin. They took an extended hike, chopped some firewood, and even attempted to clean the interior of the chimney. That particular task was proposed by Charlie who feared Father Christmas would skip their house entirely if it was too dirty! Michael insisted that it would not hinder the visit, that Santa did not discriminate among fireplaces, but Charlie would not be swayed. So, the former spy found himself lying on his back with a scrub brush as his nephew directed his movements. Michael decided next time; he would exchange assignments with Fiona. He would forage for food while she kept Charlie occupied for the day.

Dusk was nearly falling when Fiona returned, loaded with sacks full of groceries. Michael helped her carry the supplies from the car. She brushed his hair noting the fine layer of soot that covered the upper part of his body, curious as to its source.

"Don't ask." Michael shook his head, shaking off most of the debris.

Charlie rushed to greet her, bubbling with excitement as he relayed the events of the afternoon. He then led her by the hand to examine the recently cleaned chimney. She stifled a smile, as she now understood just how Michael arrived in his current state. Then, she suggested a quick shower was in order while she put together tonight's tea with Charlie's assistance. Michael gladly complied, grateful for the chance to clean up and escape from the wee one's continued barrage of questions.

The man may have had a momentary respite but when he returned to the main room, he immediately noticed Charlie's incessant chatter had not diminished. Fiona poured herself another glass of wine as she watched Michael re-emerge and then as she put the finishing touches on the pasta, he heard her say, "Frankly, Charlie, I don't have the answer to that one but I'm sure Michael knows." She flashed him a wicked smile before adding, "He's so smart, you know. Doubt there's anything he can't answer." For a brief moment, Michael regretted not shooting her on that rooftop.

Charlie bounded over, his excitement barely contained. "So, where is he now?"

"Where is who?" Michael had no idea what topic was currently being discussed.

"Santa!" Charlie blurted the name, saw his uncle's confused expression, and turned back to Fiona, a scowl on his face indicating he felt misled. Her eyes widened prompting her partner to take part in the conversation.

Michael was not a great storyteller but he excelled at recalling facts. He thought of a something that may serve both purposes. "Good question. Let's figure it out." He took out his laptop and opened it to a world map with the time zones labeled. "If we assume he left the North Pole around midnight and travelled first to this area." He pointed toward eastern Russia. "He would have stopped in Kamchatka, then headed south toward Kiribati." Charlie stared at the map following his uncle's every word. Michael paused to check the time. "By now he should be on the outskirts of... Mumbai, which means we have about six hours before he gets here."

Charlie literally jumped for joy. "Six hours! Six Hours!"

Fiona soon joined the pair, her eyes soft at the sight before her. She placed her hands gently on Michael's shoulders and kissed the top of his head lightly. "See, I told ya that he would know the answer." Michael's heart was lightened, pleased that he had made the right move.

The computer was soon put away as the trio prepared to have their tea. Michael was about to take a sip of his wine when Charlie now deep in thought posed another question, directly to his uncle this time. "So, how did the reindeer get their names?" Michael took a gulp rather than a sip. He felt this current interrogation had just begun.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Where is he now?" A freshly bathed Charlie rushed toward the window, searching the sky for any sign of a sleigh and reindeer.

Michael shrugged. "Minsk, maybe."

"Wherever Santa is currently is immaterial at this point. What is important is for you to get to bed, young man, or he'll never come down that chimney." Fiona pointed to stone fireplace, as Charlie's eyes grew wide. "And all your cleaning efforts will have been for naught." She shot a glance toward Michael still amused by the afternoon's activities. "I'll make you some warm milk, then tuck you in." She looked toward Michael as they made their first attempt at this bedtime ritual.

Charlie frowned. "But what about the cookies for Santa?"

"Cookies?" The adults looked at one another as they realised they had both missed this essential element. The adults checked the cupboards but they were devoid of biscuits of any kind. Charlie began to look concerned; fearing no cookies for Santa would result in no presents for Charlie. Everyone knew that the man expected cookies! Everyone, that is, except the two people he was beginning to rely on, beginning to think of as his parents.

Michael looked to Fiona hoping she would have a solution, but she merely shrugged her shoulders.

Michael quickly scrambled for a replacement item. He carried a container of yoghurt and deposited it in front of his nephew. "Trust me. This... this is much better than cookies. Higher nutritional value. Lower fat content." Charlie did not look convinced. "You want Santa to be healthy, right?" The boy nodded slowly. "Then yoghurt, it is. Father Christmas will likely appreciate your concern for his well being." Charlie quickly turned to Fiona for confirmation. She made a brief nod. Charlie was somewhat reassured, hoping his caregivers were not leading him astray. He set the container and a spoon on the side table near the fireplace.

"Ah, almost forgot!" Fiona rushed into the kitchen, returning quickly with two additional items. "Something for the reindeer." She placed the carrot next to container. "And something to wash down that yoghurt." An opened bottle of Guinness was placed nearby.

Now it was Michael's turn to frown. "Don't give me that look, Michael! He'll expect it. It's how Father Christmas knows he's in Ireland. We might not have biscuits for him but we have Guinness." There was no hesitation in her speech, so he surmised this might be an actual thing, not some improvisation on her part.

"So, Santa downs a pint of Guinness at every stop here in Ireland? Seems like he's a poster child for 'Don't drink and drive'." Michael found the tradition to be an odd one.

Fiona shot back. "I don't think that applies to magical sleighs powered by flying reindeer, Michael."

Their conversation abruptly ended when another voice chimed in. "Where is he now?" Charlie was persistent. Michael was beginning to long for the days when he did not speak.

"Still in Minsk. It's been less than ten minutes. Shouldn't you be going to bed?"

"I'm waitin' for my milk." Charlie looked at Fiona.

"Right." They had been on schedule until the cookie incident. "I'll warm it up while you and Michael light the candle in the window." She handed Michael a book of matches and urged the pair forward.

The two walked to the window, Charlie searching the sky once more. Michael struck the match and together they touched the flame to the wick. "Now, Santa will be able to find the cottage."

Charlie shook his head, letting out a few giggles. "Silly, it's not for Santa."

"It's not?" Michael thought it was the logical explanation.

"It's to light the way for Mary and Jesse." Charlie scoffed at his uncle's ignorance.

Fiona stepped in to correct the small error. "Actually, it's for Mary and Joseph, but if Jesse stops by, he's more than welcome to come in, as well." She flashed a smile toward Michael, remembering their friends so far away. "Milk's ready, _a stóirín_."

Charlie sprinted toward the table. Fiona slipped her arms around Michael's waist as they watched the youngster sip the warm liquid. "This is yummy!" Charlie took a bigger sip.

Michael's eyes narrowed, growing somewhat suspicious. Warm milk may be comforting but 'yummy'? He left Fiona's embrace and stood by Charlie's side. "May I have a taste, Charlie?"

Fiona shook her head vigorously. "There's no need. I'll make Michael his own." Charlie was torn, not wanting to anger either of his guardians, especially on Christmas Eve.

"Just a small sip, you know, to see if I like it." Michael's smile was wide and the boy passed him the mug. He lifted it to his lips, a familiar aroma reaching his nostrils, a disapproving look thrown at his partner. "May I see you in the kitchen, Fiona?" He did not wait for a response as he headed in that direction still grasping the mug in his hand, Fiona reluctantly following.

"Hey, my milk!" Charlie watched as the adults disappeared with his beverage.

Michael shouted over his shoulder. "It's getting a little cold. Let me warm it up for you." Once alone, he confronted Fiona. "What the hell is this?"

"It's milk. With some honey." She stared at the mug, acting a mite sheepish.

"And? " Michael correctly assumed there was another ingredient she had forgotten to mention.

"A wee bit of whiskey..." She admitted. "... to help him sleep. My mammy did it all the time for us. There's barely a thimble full in there. It's not like I made him _sc__á__ilt__í__n._"

"I have no idea what that is, but that's besides the point." His tone was stern but his voice was barely a whisper, the pair was quite accustomed to heated but quiet confrontations. "I'm not sure giving whiskey to a four year old is a very good idea. What - are we going to have him do shots on New Year's Eve?"

Fiona placed her hands on her hips, jutted out her chin, and took an offensive posture. "Very funny, Michael. As I recall your mother smoked like a chimney for years, a little whiskey milk now and then seems to pale in comparison."

Michael re-gained his composure, refusing to continue this argument. "And I thought we both agreed we were going to do things differently in regards to raising Charlie. Or should we hand him a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of Jameson's?"

"I'm from Belfast. Me man used Bushmills." Fiona tried to divert the topic but Michael's stare continued to be accusatory. "Fine." Her body slumped in defeat. "I'll make a fresh mug and only add honey this time. Will that do?" Michael slowly nodded and the drink was soon remade.

Fiona carefully carried the steaming beverage into the other room, Michael by her side. Both stopped cold as they spotted Charlie. His head lay on the table, his arms acting as a pillow, and he was fast asleep. "I suppose we'll get this right one of these days." Fiona felt defeated. Despite their good intentions, they still did not manage to put the boy to bed. They had planned to read him a bedtime story putting visions of sugarplums into his dreams but slumber found him before that task could be accomplished.

"Cheer up!" Michael checked his watch. "He's asleep and Santa's probably in Prague by now." He slipped his arm around her and she rested her head against his chest. Christmas was nearly here!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

With Charlie safely put abed, the real preparations could begin. Hidden treasures were pulled out of several nooks and crannies about the house. Fiona pulled out the largest box from the attic space and passed it into Michael's care. He carried it into the parlour and noticed a great deal of movement within the box, something he had not expected. He split apart the packing tape and peeked inside. He wiped his face with his hand in frustration just as Fiona entered the room.

"What the hell is this?" The man sought answers from his partner.

"It's a bike." Fiona wondered why the man was posing the question.

"Take a look inside the box." He did not look amused.

Fiona drew closer and inspected the contents, understanding Michael's strange reaction. "Okay. It's a box of bike parts."

Michael placed his hands on his hips and stared at his lover.

"What exactly is the problem, Michael? I once watched you and Nate dismantle an entire car AND put it back together again. This is just a bike for a child." Fiona realised this was a bit unexpected but not an insurmountable problem for the former spy.

"It's gonna take a couple of hours at least." Michael was counting on turning in early himself, amusing a four year old for most of the day had taken a toll.

"Then you better get started." Fiona gave him no sympathy as she began the task of wrapping the other parcels.

He searched for the directions as he began to empty the box. Parts were identified and categorised in preparation of assembly, the paperwork soon found. "Great - it's in Chinese. I don't read Chinese, Fiona."

She moved toward him, swiping the directions from his hands. "Oh, look! They're in Russian and Polish, too. It seems as if this is your lucky day." She handed him the sheets of paper, a triumphant smile on her face, and turned back to her own tasks. It wasn't long before she began to search through the rubble around her, clearly looking for a specific item. "Where did you put the candy canes he asked for?"

Michael paused, wrench in hand. "I thought you were getting that."

"I distinctly remember asking you to get it." Fiona began to look annoyed.

"You did. Then, you said never mind and that you would get it when you were at the market today." Michael reported the facts, Fiona instantly remembering the earlier conversation. It had slipped her mind. She glanced up at the clock. The shops would all be closed at this hour. There was no candy cane to place in Charlie's stocking.

Michael could read her thoughts, Fiona growing angry with herself for her misstep. "Can't you just whip one up?"

" 'Whip one up'?" Her eyes flashed with anger at the flippant remark. " Do I look like Martha Stewart to you?" Fiona had a repertoire of about ten things that she could cook with ease. Candy canes were not one of those items.

"I've seen you make explosives of all kinds. I just figured if anyone could work with molten sugar, it would be you." Michael rubbed her cheek softly in an attempt to soothe her.

"_You have a high estimation of my skills, Michael_." His confidence in her abilities eased her discomfort.

"_You've earned every bit of it, Fi_." His loving gaze prompted other thoughts, which unfortunately she was unable to act upon as time was of the essence.

A quick data search of the key ingredients in a candy cane provided a measure of comfort. She read them aloud, "Sugar, corn syrup, red food colouring, peppermint oil. We have nearly everything."

Michael looked surprised. "We have corn syrup?"

"I always keep a supply of red food dye and corn syrup on hand just in case we ever have to make fake blood." Fiona explained while Michael nodded at her logic. "As to the peppermint, maybe I can extract something from the mint tea leaves we have in the cupboard." Both operatives had learned to be resourceful over the years. Now that she was over her initial anger, she was able to apply herself to the task at hand. Michael was right. If she could make bombs and faux C-4, surely she could cook up a batch of candy canes!

"Looks like we better get to work." He placed a gentle kiss on her lips before heading back to his construction assignment. "But something tells me we were better at being operatives than we are at being elves!" Fiona smiled before setting herself to her own job. She began melting sugar on the cooktop using the same care that she previously reserved for explosives.

The hours passed swiftly, Michael lending a hand to candy making once the last pedal was screwed in place. He sat across the counter from her, flirty glances continually exchanged. They were used to this game of seduction. In their previous lives, explosives took centre stage. The mixture of chemicals or the assemblage of electronic devices often added that hint of danger that stirred up their senses and emotions. Different type of construction project but ultimately the mood was the same. They stretched and pulled the pliable sugar concoction, their hands meeting briefly. There was a need to work quickly while the material was malleable and to prevent discovery of the covert operation. They took turns checking on their charge even setting a small trip wire that would alert them should he awake before their task was complete.

Eventually, a batch of hand crafted candy canes lie cooling on the counter. "Not our best work but I suppose it will do." Fiona surveyed their concoction. They looked surprisingly acceptable, the flavour more sugar than peppermint.

"Charlie will gobble it up. It seems he would live on sugar if we let him." Michael grinned, thinking about their attempts to expand his palate.

"I think you're forgetting he asked for candy canes for all of us. Somethin' about wantin' you to see the deliciousness of candy over yoghurt." Fiona reminded her partner of his nephew's plan. "He'll expect you to eat one of these." Michael sighed, wondering how he could avoid it. She slipped her hands around his waist. "Perhaps, I could make ya a bit of whiskey milk to wash it down?"

"Heavy on the whiskey, light on the milk?" Michael leaned into her, their lips meeting for the briefest of moments. Fiona pulled slightly away, alerting the man that the night was waning and their work was not yet complete. Business before pleasure whether it be tracking a quasi-governmental agency gone rogue or playing Father Christmas for a four year old, the basic premise was the same.

The stocking was filled. The ribbon-laden packages placed under the tree. The yoghurt and Guinness consumed. The adults barely made it to bed before dawn, too exhausted for anything more than sleep. Fiona nestled in her lover's arms, warm in his embrace, and drifted off to sleep. Michael stayed awake a while longer, savouring her presence, thankful he had been given a second chance at love. Seconds later, a high pitched sound indicated the bedroom door was being thrown open. It was followed by the patter of running feet and a forty-pound assailant jumping in bed with the couple.

"Wake up!" He shook Michael vigorously. Fiona shot up, startled by the intrusion as she reached for her gun, and no longer kept under her pillow for this very reason. "Wake up! He was here! Santa was here!" Christmas morning for the O'Donovan's had arrived!


	4. The First Noel

**A Very Kerry Christmas**

**Part 4: The First Noel**

Charlie began pulling his uncle's hand. "Come see! He was here! There's a bike and it's RED!"

Fiona willed herself awake and tried to stall for time. "Have ya gone to the toilet yet?" The boy stopped tugging on Michael for a fraction of a second as he shook his head. "Well, off with ya then while we get ourselves sorted." The boy scampered away, Fiona shouting another directive. "And don't forget to wash your hands!" That should buy them another minute.

She turned toward her partner. "Now I understand why me mother was always so knackered on Christmas Day." She tried to smooth down her hair, make it somewhat presentable.

"You look beautiful." Michael reassured her, lifting her spirits immediately. He rose from the bed. "Tea?"

"Considerin' how the day's started, something stronger might be in order." She threw back the duvet, ready to face the morning.

Michael grinned. "Whiskey milk?"

Fiona was soon at his side. "I was thinking more in terms of coffee... strong coffee... black." The sound of flushing announced the end of their respite, Charlie emerging soon after. His eyes lit up as he saw the pair upright. He rushed to them, grabbed each by the hand, and led them toward the bounty of packages that awaited.

There was the bike, shiny and red, a small two-wheeler outfitted with training wheels, a helmet hanging from the handlebars. Charlie squealed as he mounted his prize. He took a few pedals around the parlour as Fiona scrambled to remove her precious snow globe from his path. Michael guided the bicyclist through the front door letting him take a quick spin, promising a longer ride when they were all suitably dressed for the weather. The boy begrudgingly complied but cheered immediately when he was reminded that there might be other surprises for him under the tree.

Michael put the kettle on, then put the coffee into the press as Charlie headed toward his stocking. It was filled with nuts, an orange, a few small cars, and the wished for candy canes. Michael whispered to the woman beside him. "What did you do with the others?" The batch they had made last night was plentiful.

"Put them in a safe place. We have enough to give him one every year until he's thirty!" The former spy grimaced at the thought of a decades old piece of candy being placed in a future stocking.

Charlie zoomed his new cars around the room giving the couple a chance to enjoy their coffee. Somewhat revitalised, they took their steaming mugs and settled near the tree ready to see what else 'Santa' brought.

"Aren't you goin' to open the others?" Fiona asked, as there were still several gifts with Charlie's name on them.

"In a minute. I'm still playing." He scooted his car through the legs of a chair.

Fiona sighed. "This could take all morning. When I was his age I tore through the presents as quickly as I could."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Michael would have predicted as much. He thought back to his own boyhood. Nate rushed through opening whatever might be left under the tree for him. His Christmas was over within minutes. Michael had a more patient, methodical approach. He opened one gift at a time, playing with it for a while before opening another. He got the full measure of the gifts that way, extending the few festive moments the Westen household enjoyed throughout the year. He remembered his mom soaking up the joy, holding it in reserve for when things turned ugly once more, which they always did. He watched his nephew and understood his methodology.

Finally, Charlie was ready to move on. There were three packages left: two from Santa and one from MaFi and Michael. He opened the first one from Santa, an immediate slump of his shoulders proceeded. The adults glanced at each other, wondering what caused the sour reaction.

"Charlie?" Michael moved closer and peeked inside the box. "Trains. I thought you asked Santa for trains."

"I did." He folded his arms across his chest. "But these are girl trains!" Michael picked up the engines: a forest green one named 'Emily' and a lavender 'Rosie'. He recognised the problem instantly.

Fiona's hackles were raised. "And what's wrong with girl trains?"

"They're not strong like the boy trains. They can't help Thomas." Charlie scowled.

"Excuse me... " Fiona was ready to argue the point but Michael interceded. He had this covered.

"You know, Charlie, you're wrong about the girl thing. In my experience, the women in my life were the strongest and bravest people I ever met. Your grandma and Fiona helped me ALL the time. In fact, they saved my life." His eyes moved toward Fiona, her eyes growing moist. "Trust me. Thomas is one lucky engine to have these two by his side." Charlie's face brightened. He took the trains back, anxious to get them out of the packaging now. Then, he rushed out of the room to get Thomas so he could introduce the tank engine to his new 'friends'.

Michael re-joined Fiona who rested her head on his shoulder, his words a Christmas gift for her heart. Soon, the boy returned, introductions made. The former spy encouraged his nephew to open the other gift from Father Christmas. This time, Charlie's reaction was joyful from the start. Three more trains to add to his collection- and all of these engines were male. Charlie quickly linked all of the cars together. They chugged around the carpet, the boy bellowing, "Toot, toot!"

"There's still one more package for you, Charlie. Don't you want to open it?" Fiona asked as trains circled around their feet.

"Later! I wanna open it last." Charlie stopped and looked at the couple. "Did Santa leave any breakfast?"

"Not so much as a bun." She winked at the boy. "But he ate the yoghurt that ya left." The boy's eyes darted to the table. The yoghurt container lay on its side emptied of its contents. The carrot was half gone and the pint of Guinness was drained. "But I think we can manage to find ya somethin'."

A simple breakfast of granola and fruit, with yoghurt, of course, quickly appeared and was devoured with gusto, Charlie needing to fill his belly without wasting too much time. Before long he was off once again, diving toward the tree and packages beneath it. Michael and Fiona followed suit. The boy's enthusiasm was infectious and even Michael was succumbing to the Christmas spirit.

"Open mine!" Charlie scooted on his belly to get Fiona's present. A box wrapped in paper adorned with Ninja Turtles wearing Santa hats was placed in her hands.

She glanced at Michael, a sly smile on her face. "Is the wrapping a clue that a Italian Renaissance masterpiece lies within? Or perhaps a trip to Florence?" Michael frowned, completely lost about her meaning. "Never mind. You really have to start watching the telly with him a bit more."

"I picked it out!" Charlie crouched on his knees, his face alight with excitement.

"Then, I will love it to be sure." She beckoned him closer and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. She tore off the paper quickly and opened the box. Inside rested her gift, chosen with love and care. Her eyes popped in amazement as she slowly lifted the garment: a pair of bright pink flannel pyjamas emblazoned with cakes, cookies, and pastries of all sorts. It was possibly the most heinous thing she had ever seen! She was rendered speechless for a moment before she regained her composure. Charlie's smile had vanished as he watched her reaction but soon returned as she announced, "This is the best gift I have ever received!" And it truly was, a gift from the heart filled with love. She just needed to figure out how she could avoid ever putting it on her body. He jumped into her lap and rubbed the soft fabric.

Tears began to form as she listened to the youngster explain his choice. "The lady helped me."

"Did she now?" Fiona wondered if she could discover her identity and possibly plant a little surprise for her- under her car.

"It's an extra, extra small." The boy reported the essential information.

"It will fit perfectly then." She placed a hand on his shoulder.

Michael broke in seeing Fiona was a bit overcome by emotion. "Charlie came up with the idea all on his own. " The boy nodded in agreement. "Seems he was worried about you being cold at night." Fiona's brow furrowed. "Apparently, when he comes into our room, he noticed you aren't wearing any pyjamas." Fiona swallowed hard.

"Now you don't have to be naked anymore." Charlie smiled.

"And Michael helped ya with this, did he?" The boy nodded once again and shared a conspiratorial smile with his uncle. "That's grand. There's no need for me ever to be naked again." Her smile vanished as she delivered her message to her lover. Michael's smile also disappeared at this pronouncement.

Charlie jumped up. "Put them on! Put them on!"

"Yes, Fi, put them on. I think we would both enjoy seeing you model them for us." It was time for a little payback for her comment.

Fiona looked at Charlie's face, filled with excitement about his gift. She smiled at Charlie, glared at Michael, and left the room to change. The youngster whispered to his uncle. "I think she likes them." Ah, the innocence of youth, mused Michael.

Moments later, she returned. A pink flannel blob. Charlie blurted out the second she emerged. "You look butiful!" Fiona vowed to remove every mirror in the house until spring but the joy in Charlie's face was some consolation.

Michael had the biggest grin that she had ever seen on his face. "Yes, she does, but she always looks beautiful." Her expression softened as he drew closer. "Reminds me of that bunny suit the kid gets in that Christmas movie."

"You are enjoying this way too much." She pulled away, her eyes flashing a bit of anger.

Michael nodded. "Do you blame me? Seeing you this way, well let's just say it makes the whole Christmas thing worthwhile, Fi - the Santa trip, the tree, the assembly projects... "

He began to laugh at their new reality. Just a few weeks ago, he had hit rock bottom in his life. He had lost everything that he held dear; he had even lost himself along the way. Now, the love of his life stood before him, dressed in a way that he would never have imagined, the joy in his nephew's face unmistakable. He was a lucky man he was! Charlie had no idea why his uncle was so amused but the laugh was contagious and both he and Fiona joined in, ultimately ending with a group hug.

Soon, Charlie broke away. "Now open Michael's."

"A present from Michael?" Fiona queried. "I hope it's a deadbolt for the bedroom door."

"Not exactly, though it's a good idea." They all settled back down as Charlie passed her a box. This gift was wrapped by the shop, shiny red paper topped with silver ribbon. "Maybe Fi should open that one later." Michael was a bit hesitant for her to open this particular gift in front of Charlie. But Charlie would not be denied. He pushed the box closer, his expression somewhat insistent.

Fiona once again tore into the wrapping. She removed the lid, pulled apart the tissue paper, and spotted her surprise. She smiled shyly at her partner, clearly pleased with the contents. Charlie poked his head into the box. "I wanna see." He lifted the garment - a diaphanous fabric with lacy embellishments. Charlie's nose wrinkled in dismay.

"See, I got you pyjamas, too." Michael noted.

"They won't keep you very warm." Charlie examined the sleepwear, shaking his head at his uncle's foolishness.

"I don't know, I think I could be quite hot in them." Fiona eyed her partner as she made the comment.

Michael reddened slightly, and then explained their possible use. "They're for summer, you know, when it's warmer." That seemed to satisfy the youngster.

Now it was Michael's turn to be the recipient of presents. Two packages were placed before him. "Open mine first!" Charlie handed him a box. Michael carefully removed the wrapping and looked into the box. A black wool flat cap rested inside. He slowly removed it, a grin on his face.

"Charlie was concerned that ya didn't have a hat. Afraid ya'd catch a chill since I insist that he wear one when he mucks about." She paused watching the man stare at the cap. "Seems he had a theme goin'. Wantin' to keep us warm. He choose that one to make ya look more Irish." Charlie nodded in agreement.

Michael placed the cap on his head. "How does it look?" He directed the comment to his nephew who gave him a thumbs up sign.

Then he faced Fiona who stifled a giggle. "I wanted to mock you but I rather like it. Now, open mine."

Michael took the package and handled it gingerly. Gifts from Fiona tended to have blades or detonators so it was best to take care. Her face remained impassive as he opened it hesitantly.

The former spy was puzzled by the contents of the package. It contained a pair of toy guns.

"Wow!" Charlie ran his fingers over the faux weapons.

"Don't even think about it, young man. These are for ages eight and up. You'll have to wait a few more years before ya can properly handle them." She spoke semi-sternly as she delivered her warning before addressing Michael. "It's a Clear Shot Blaster with targeting scope. It holds four rounds and there's spare ammo. Foam, unfortunately." Michael thought he should understand the purpose of this particular gift, but it completely escaped him. If Charlie was prohibited from using the blasters, what exactly was the purpose? Fiona sighed, now regretting her choice. She began to explain. "When Madeline decided to stop smoking, she got one of those patches, you know, to help. I thought these might wean us from our own addiction." They had recently discussed that although they did not miss the life they left behind, they did miss the feel of a trigger on their fingers. Fiona thought that perhaps these would suffice. "It was a stupid idea..."

Michael smiled. It was a perfect gift. His mother had been right. He had picked the right girl. "It's perfect." They looked into one another's eyes, momentarily forgetting their young charge.

Charlie giggled. "Stupid." Fiona's smile faded immediately. She focused on the boy, then rolled her eyes. Tomorrow, she would add that one to her banned household word list. But for now she turned her attention back to Michael.

"I assume since there are two of them, they'll be some 'competition' involved." He questioned his partner, knowing how her mind worked. Of course, he usually didn't mind these games of hers. There was usually a mutually beneficial prize for the victor.

She shook her head. "Won't be much of a competition. I'll kick your... " Fiona stopped and noticed that she had captured the youngster's attention. Charlie stared at the pair, wondering what MaFi was going to kick. "...Zombie blaster away if you use the weapon irresponsibly."

"Nice save." Michael noted her quick thinking.

One lone present remained; the one Charlie had been saving for last. He moved toward it, both adults watching his movements. He took his time opening the gift. A gasp of surprise followed.

"Twain twack!" It was a set of track with a tunnel, a bridge, and even a station. Charlie's eyes widened in delight at he tore the box opened. Track was soon scattered all along the floor.

Before long, Michael and Charlie had constructed a route that circled the coffee table and wound under the chair. When they ran out of actual track, they lay down imaginary rails. They crawled around the carpet as Charlie explained what each engine had to do to help Thomas on his adventure. This time, Michael was able to choose his engine. He steered away from Charlie's favourites, as well as, the dreaded James. Under Fiona's watchful eye, he chose 'Emily', not really his first choice, but one that would garner him favours from his paramour. A pleased look appeared on her face and he knew it would reap rewards at a later time.

Charlie pressed 'Rosie' into Fiona's hand, urging her to join the game. She looked at the engine regretting choosing a purple train. She wished she had put a bit more thought into her selections. She had a dreadful feeling that she was destined to be this purple train in all future games. Next time in Tralee, she would make a point in revisiting the toyshop and select an engine more suited to her style and personality. But for today, she pushed 'Rosie' about the floor, making sure she outpaced all the other engines.

The play continued for some time, Charlie filled with energy. The adults began to run out of enthusiasm for the game. "Why are you stopping?" Charlie questioned his uncle who settled against the chair.

"Emily is out of gas. She's at the station to fill up." Michael explained.

Charlie scrunched up his face. "She's a steam engine. She doesn't need gas."

Michael nodded slowly. "I meant she was out of water. I'm gonna see where Fi is. Maybe she needs some help." Fiona had disappeared a while ago insisting that she had to change lest she damage her new pyjamas. Charlie nodded and continued playing independently, his imagination driving the game.

He found her huddled in the kitchen, clad in more Fiona-like garments, savouring a few minutes of quiet while sipping tea. "Hiding out?" He took the cup from her hand, taking a sip of the comforting liquid.

"My knees were giving out. Apparently, I need to find a new exercise regime if we are going to play trains continuously." She grabbed the mug back encircling her fingers around it.

Michael stretched, his lower back strained from the activity. Fiona noticed his slight grimace. "I think this is why me mam told me to have babbies in my twenties." Michael just smiled thinking about the pair in their twenties, each causing mayhem in their own fashion, neither thinking about raising a small boy. Yet here there were- new parents in their forties, trying to navigate the world they found themselves in, normal to most people, but completely outside their realm of expertise.

Charlie bounded into the kitchen. "I'm done playing trains. I wanna ride my new bike. Can I? Can I, please?"

"It's 'May I?' Not in your jammies. Get dressed. Michael will help ya, he will, while I start on Christmas tea. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to cook?" She turned to her partner. He saw by her expression it was a somewhat rhetorical question as she had no intention of leaving the warmth and peace of the kitchen to run down the lane after Charlie riding his new bike. The boy had already disappeared, eager to dress, and try out his new wheels. Michael sighed; at least he would be standing upright. He put on his coat slowly as his nephew whipped passed, plunging outdoors ready for the next activity.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Fiona's kitchen duties were minimal. She placed the turkey crown in the oven, set the praties on to boil, and prepped the vegetables for roasting. Then, she headed toward the window, peering out to spy on the males of the household. She watched as Charlie pedalled furiously, Michael running alongside. The bicycle had training wheels for stability but the uneven ground could easily topple the inexperienced rider. Charlie's face was alight with excitement, his cheeks rosy from the cold. But it was Michael's expression that took her by surprise! She had not seen him look so happy, so content in years. His self-absorption during the Burn Notice years seemed to have drained away, his thoughts now totally concentrated on this new life, this new family. He smiled as he guarded his charge, lending a balancing hand whenever necessary. He spotted her at the window, causing his smile to widen even more. She soon joined them, Charlie shouting once he spotted her. "Look at me! Look at me!" Laughter pierced the quiet of the woodland as both adults ran up and down the lane, chasing their wee one, gentle flakes of snow falling about, a Christmas Day to remember.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The last morsel of mince pie was consumed and Charlie dashed off to play with his new trains. Michael and Fiona began the task of washing up. They worked several minutes in contented silence, one washing, the other drying, working together in perfect unison. Finally, Fiona spoke. "I was thinking that next year, perhaps, we'd try to pull together a more traditional meal. You know, roast a turkey, dressing, that sort of thing."

"A turkey?" Michael frowned. "For three of us? We'll be eating turkey for weeks."

Fiona paused. "Yeah, you're right. Well, I suppose we could invite someone over."

Michael sensed a set up. "Someone over?" He did not like where this conversation was headed.

"Me mam, perhaps." Fiona continued washing without looking at her partner's reaction but she could sense him tense. "Maybe, Sean and his family?"

The of thought sitting down to dinner with Norah Glenanne was akin to sitting down with Andrew Strong. Both people he knew were still alive but hoped to never see again. Michael was reluctant to bring this to Fiona's attention. He had a few brief conversations with Fi's mother in their later Miami years, but the woman's tone was always icy. There was no mistaking her enmity toward him. Michael was wise enough to stay clear of insulting Fiona's mother so he chose the easier target.

"Sean?" Michael frowned. "And what would Sean and I possibly talk about these days?"

Fiona stopped and faced him, leaning her hands on the counter. "I don't know. Maybe ya could compare scars and bullet wounds. That sort of thing. Or maybe ya could just watch the wee ones play while ya had a Bailey's in honour of the season. His youngest is only a couple of years older than Charlie. It might be nice to introduce him to his quasi-cousins. Give him a sense of family."

"Cousins?" His brow furrowed.

"Yes, Michael, cousins. Or would ya prefer he have a brother or two?" Fiona hoped that particular option would put away any qualms about seeing her brothers' children in the future.

"Cousin, definitely cousin." Michael turned pensive as he recalled a conversation with Nate years ago. His brother had just revealed the truth that Michael already knew: that Nate was about to become a father. His brother quipped that it might be nice if his future child might one day have a cousin. And now, Fiona was presenting him with that exact scenario. A cousin. It was just what Nate wanted. Michael flashed a sad smile with a slight nod of his head. "Maybe."

Fiona was slightly encouraged by the fact the man was willing to entertain the possibility of including some of her family in future holiday celebrations. She returned to the washing up, her spirits lifted.

Michael saw the tension leave Fi's body. There was no point in arguing about next Christmas. He had 365 days to prevent a family reunion. He was bound to think of something.

He placed the final plate in the cabinet, the two ready to re-join Charlie. They left the kitchen together and spotted Charlie immediately. He was fast asleep under the tree, his face resting on some train track, his hands still clutching a pair of engines. Fiona's shoulders slumped. Once more they had failed at putting the boy to bed like normal people. "We are so not good at this."

"I don't know, Fi. Charlie had a great day. We all did - even me." Fiona was taken aback. It was quite an admission coming from the man. He pulled her closer. "Merry Christmas, Fi."

"Happy Christmas, Michael." She muttered back. Their lips and hearts met as the day drew to a close. "Why don't ya put him to bed and I'll go try on my Christmas gift from ya. Ya know, see if it fits." Michael thought that was an especially good idea. She slipped from his arms, whispering as she went. "Later we can plan what we want to do tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Michael was much more interested with what was going to happen in about fifteen minutes once Charlie was nestled in his own room.

"St. Stephen's Day." She called over her shoulder as she made her way to their bedroom.

St. Stephen's Day? What the hell was that? He wondered.

Her voice drifted away as she disappeared from sight. "I was thinking... maybe we could go to Dingle... join in the festivities..."

Michael released a large breath. It was going to be a very long year!

_-An Deireadh-_

**A/N: Hope your holidays were as joyous for you and your family as it was for the O'Donovans! ****_Athbhliain faoi Mhaise Daoibh!_ Wishing you the best for 2015!**


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